


Out of my Mind

by LylaMackenzie



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Anger and lashing out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LylaMackenzie/pseuds/LylaMackenzie
Summary: Racetrack is mostly happy - go - lucky.  Enjoys spending time at the track, hanging with the rest of the Newsies, etc.  But one night Race is followed home by a strange man, and though he initially dismisses the situation, the odd feeling doesn't let up as the man continues to make appearances. Race can't decide if he's only imagining the man's intentions or if he's truly dangerous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this Race-centered fic! Any feedback is extremely helpful and gratefully appreciated! Kudos help in producing more chapters
> 
> This is multi chapter, but it won't let me change it...i promise this isn't it

Racetrack Higgins found himself whistling as he made his way back to the lodging-house that evening. It was dark, but he could find the place in his sleep. The sky was lit from below with street lights, blotting out the stars as they scattered among the black blanket that covered all of New York. Race knew he should be sleeping, but his body buzzed with excitement, he went to the track earlier that night after selling off all his papers. It had been a pretty good day, but he knew he'd have to get up tomorrow and do it all over again.

Turning the corner that led to the lodging-house, he got the strange feeling that he was being watched. It didn't surprise him necessarily; he just won quite a nice sum of money and someone was bound to want a piece of it. He already argued with the men he won against, many threatening to call the Bulls if he took the payout; funny how they were all willing to take his money, but vile once they had to dish it out. Ignoring the feeling, he kept his pace, trying to be quiet the closer he got as to not wake anyone. There used to Race coming in and odd hours, and most of the Newsies slept pretty hard considering they were out on the streets all day, but many, especially Jack, kept on high alert.

He heard a noise to his right, a sharp sound that was exceptionally jarring in the otherwise deserted street. He stopped a moment, glancing around him, trying to see into the darkness, but came up empty. It wasn't far now, but he quickened is pace it just a little. After a moment, the sound came again, bouncing off the surrounding buildings. Racetrack stopped again, more curious than afraid, and peered once more into the shadows, trying to summon the source of the sound. All at once, a guttural sound came from behind him and he whipped around. The man stood there, bizarre smile on his face, one that could be mistaken for a smirk. For a moment, Race didn't move. The man was clearly drunk and Race wasn't sure what he might do. "Nice job tonight." The man spoke, showing his teeth. He was wearing a dark colored suit, his tie askew, his shirt untucked. Rice didn't recognize him from the track, but then there were a lot of men there.

"Thanks." He managed. "Have a nice evening." He figured the man could be a potential customer so we didn't allow his strange appearance to bother him. Turning his back on the odd man with the eerie smile may not have been his brghtest decision, but Race is more eager to get back to the lodging-house then he had been, his nerves jumping like electricity. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he finished his trek to the lodge, making his way to his bunk, where he stashed the money under his pillow for future use. He fell asleep surprisingly quickly, despite the original buzz, the strange guy all but forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story as it develops! Thank you for all the kudos and feedback!! Keep them coming!

Morning came much too quickly, but Racetrack was up with the rest of them, getting in line for his papers, making up headlines to attract the few people out on the street. Rain fell in drizzles, creating an almost night- like atmosphere and the streets were nearly deserted. Race was about to call it quits until the rain stopped, when he saw a man approaching from his left. Race coughed and pushed off the wall he was leaning against to greet the customer. He began his spiel, but froze when a man smiled at him, a sly, almost sneer. "Mr.. Big Bucks. Your day job I presume?"

As badly as he didn't want to admit it, the guy made him feel uneasy. Something was off about him. But he shook it off and offered a smile, a paper held out in offering. "Gotta get my gambling money somehow." A chuckle escaped his lips, doing his best to make the sale. The man leans a little closer and it took racetrack all he had not to move back, the foul smelling breath hitting him right in the face. It was then that he noticed the man was wearing the same thing he had on the night before, as if he'd slept in it, or passed out in it was more likely. It wasn't that the man seemed like a drunk really, just not the usual fare you'd find at the track. He was dressed nicely enough, but he looked as if he slept on the streets. His hair slicked-back, but long, pieces hanging in his face as he spoke. "I don't read much, kid, but thanks."

Race nodded, silently hoping someone would walk by and allow him the distraction of continuing his day's work. He glanced around him and saw nothing; it was like a ghost town. He wasn't surprised, as the rain had picked up and was visibly soaking into his shirt. Race cleared his throat, wiped a hand across his forehead, brushing away the water before it ran into his eyes. "Well, look, I hate to cut this lovely conversation short, but I think I'm going to head back to the lodging-house and wait this out. It's pretty dead out here, you know."

The man smiled a toothy grin, and reached his hands into his jacket, and for a moment Racetrack froze in place, fear overtaking reason. What would he have when he pulled them back out? And knife? The gun? But the man only hooked his thumbs through pair of unseen suspenders and began walking away, whistling a tuneless song as he went.

 

***

Racktrack stared after the man as he disappeared down the street, so preoccupied that the crash of thunder that hit made him jump. The sky opened up almost immediately, sending sheets of rain cascading down upon him. Race held a stack of papers over his head as he ran for cover; not that it really mattered, he was already drenched, and now 10 papes were ruined. He cursed at himself as he ran through a doorway and shook them out on the floor of the building. As he glanced around, ultimately dropping the soggy weighed down mess on the bench just inside the door, he saw other newsies standing around, clearly is smarter than Race, having gotten out of the rain before the torrential downpour. He probably should have paid more attention to the overcast appearance of the sky and how dark the clouds had gotten, what Race was clearly preoccupied at the time.

He hasn't noticed any other Newsies on the streets near him and wondered where all of them at come from. Probably to get a bite to eat and settle in before the storm, and rightly so, he thought. He noticed Jack coming towards him, a look of triumph on his face. "Take a bath with your clothes on again, Race? "He chortled, taking in the state of Racetrack, who, by now, was being into shiver from the chill.

"You are very funny, Kelly." Race smiled back at him. "At least I take baths."

"The ladies prefer my natural Aroma." Jack countered, not giving in just yet. Jack was at least a head taller than Race, and looked even more so now that Race was curling in on himself from the cold. Jack knew Race wouldn't say anything about being cold and wanted to drag the fun out for a little while. "You know these papers aren't supposed to get wet, don't you pal?"

Racetrack looked over at the pathetic pile of slop that just barely resembled newspapers. "You're such--" Race couldn't get the rest of the sentence out once his teeth began chattering. It was humid outside in the rain, but inside was wintry . Jack finally took pity on his friend and relented, gesturing to the man behind the counter, who threw Jack a towel, most likely for wiping tables. Race snatched it quickly from Jack, struggling to peel himself from his wet shirt, his suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. He felt as if the entire room were staring at him, like he was part of a show, but he didn't careat the moment;all he wanted to do was get warm. He dried himself as best he could, considering the fact that the small towel was wet in seconds. Jack, noticing Race was still shaking slightly offered him his shirt. "What am I supposed to do with that? Wear it as a dress?" Race tossed the towel at Jack, a smile tugging playfully at the corners of his mouth. Jack laughed openly, his eyes shining with glee. Race may have been shorter than Jack, but he was much more muscular than his taller friend. Even if Race fit the shirt in length, it would have been tight across his arms and chest. Although at the moment, Race just about toom Jack up on his offer.

Race peered out the window hopefully, but the rain still fell from the sky like it was going to come down upon them. He was about to make a comment to Jack, when a dark-haired man entered his vision. Race leaned forward even more, trying to see what the man was doing, and sure enough it was the same guy who who he'd seen the night before and again only moments ago. "What the--"

Jack interrupted his thoughts coming closer to stare out the window as well. Racetrack felt Jack's breath on the back of his neck , and for some reason it unsettled him slightly. "Still coming down out there?"

Race looked at Jack, watching him look past him out the window. Race didn't mention the strange man, the one dumb enough to wander around out in the storm without seeming to try and find shelter, and when Race turned back to the window, the man was already gone. He pondered telling Jack about the bizarre events in the past couple of days, not even 12 hours really, but he didn't see the point. It would most likely make Race sound paranoid, and if he were honest with himself the guy hadn't really caused any harm. It was more that he was a bit off-putting. Jack would probably laugh it off anyway. Or threatened to soak the man. Race wondered what Spot would think.

Wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to create some sense of warmth, Race turned back to Jack, who seemed to be involved in four different conversations at once. That was Jack for you, though, everybody's friend, protector; most of the Newsies followed Jack like puppies looking for food, and half of the time Jack had something to offer them.

Rubbing his hands on his arms, the goosebumps still present, he felt Jack wrapping arm around his shoulders. "Let's see if Luke has something for you to wear." The man behind the bar, a wiry guy in his late 30s, was always collecting items people left behind and never came back to claim. "Hey, Lucas. "Jack nodded at the blond, "race, here, decided to try swimming the streets in the stuff. Got anything back there for him?"

"No problem, Jackie. "Race nearly bounced on his toes as he watched the older man rummage through a box of discarded items, eventually coming up with a shirt big enough for two grown men. Racetrack took it gratefully and pulled it over his head, warmth seeping into his skin almost immediately. He then took his hat off and rung it out on the floor giving Lucas a sideways smile as an apology, before replacing it on his head. There's nothing to be done about his pants, but at least half of him was warm. He nearly asked for coffee, but second-guessing himself after soaking man's floor. "Thanks". He muttered instead. Luke nodded in response and Race and Jack headed back towards the benches that lined the front of the establishment. The rain was still coming down heavily, but seem to be moving slowly towards Brooklyn. As the two of them sat on the bench not covered with the sloppy newspapers, Race pulled his hands into the sleeves of the Woolen undershirt. It hung almost to the middle of his thighs and Race had to wonder how someone one went about losing their undershirt and then forgetting they lost it. He was also thankful for Jack Kelly pretty much knowing everyone in New York and the fact that one of those people happen to work in the place he ventured into. It was a decently popular spot for Newsies as Luke's prices were fair, but this was the first time Race had been there. He looked around for the first time, really noticing the state of the place. It was full of mismatched chairs and tables, as if put together from unwanted throwaways, but it was clean. There didn't seem to be a speck of dust or dirt anywhere, which made Race feel extra guilty for wringing out his hat on Lukes pristine floor. He sniffed the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing, wondering if Luke even washed things that were left behind;he seemed like he wouldn't want the scent of the owner hanging around, even if he tolerated him while they were there. As he leaned his head back against the wall, he felt himself drift back to an hour ago, when the man had once again approached him. It bothered him that he was the only person that happened to wander into his path that morning, despite being on the streets for hours. And the fact that he saw him again out the window only moments ago had him on edge. The bar was in the opposite direction he had seen the man walking in when he left Race and yet he appeared as if out of nowhere at the same place Race happened to be. Even the guys that were here with him had come from the other end of the street, where they were bound to run into more customers then the place Spot picked. He wasn't sure if anyone had even seen Race, much less the man he been talking to, and no one would find that strange just from watching.

Jack must have noticed the uneasy expression on Races face, because he nudged him with his elbow. "Still here with us Race?"

Race gave him a small smile, his mind flickering back to the present. "Yeah," Race pulled the shirt tighter around himself, trying to bury himself in the fabric. "I do think once the storm lets up I'm going to head back to the lodging-house. I'm clearly not going to stand on the corner with me looking like I pissed myself." He gestured to his pants. "Besides, my papes are all ruined." He didn't tell Jack the real reason he didn't feel like going back out. He was freaked out more than he was willing to admit, and for seemingly no reason at all. He hadn't even done anything. Yet, racetrack thought, he hadn't done anything yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed their 4th of July celebrations! Thanks for all the kudos and comments :) I hope you are enjoying the story and the way it's progressing! I love knowing what you think so keep the comments coming!!

Race and Jack made their way back to the lodging house, the sun finally peeking through the clouds, only a mist left over from the storm gently kissing their faces. Though the storm had passed and Race had yet to see the man again, his nerves were still electrified, as if he'd been struck by lightning, a light buzzing settling over his skin. He felt jittery, unable to keep his hands still, eyes darting all around him, worried he'd be ambushed from the shadows. Jack was right, maybe he wasn't all there. Race had taken the money he'd stashed under his pillow and kept it in his sock, just in case anyone got itchy fingers; though he hadn't even told anyone how much he'd won, not even Jack. He looked at Jack then, the older boy watching him carefully. "I know, I know, I look like a little kid playing dress up." He'd worn the undershirt back to the lodge, his own shirt, not to mention, pants, were still decently soaked through. They could still hear the thunder in the distance, the storm having moved on to Brooklyn and Spot Conlon. Race chuckled under his breath at the thought. He and Spot had been friends for a long time, always planning new and creative ways to torture one another. The week would not be complete if one of them didn't find their shoes filled with mud or some kind of creature left in their bunk. 

Jack raised an eyebrow. " you sure you didn't have a few drinks at the track last night?" 

Race smiled and shook his head. "Nah, just a late night. Nothing --" Race caught himself. He almost said "nothing more than a few guys causing some trouble." But he knew Jack would want details and he wasn't ready for that yet. Besides, he might not ever see that guy again. "Nothing out of the ordinary" . Jack only nodded as tgey reached the street the lodging house was on. "Going back to work Jack?"

"Might as well. I'd love to see you try and escape that contraption Luke gave you, but I don't feel like going through the hassle of selling these back to Weasel." Jack gave Race a lopsided grin before hoisting the leftover papers on his shoulder and heading out to his usual spot. Race gave a small, shirt-covered wave before opening the door to the lodging house and stepping inside. As soon as he did, he heard the shouts of some of the younger Newsies, clearly happy for the break. Race had to smile at them, at the carefree way they chased one another in between the bunks. Race had never had that luxury, at least not so that he could remember. 

Race grew up with a loving family until the ripe age of seven, when tragedy struck. He had been walking home from school- Race had actually loved school, believe it or not- when he saw the flames. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw where they were coming from. Dropping his books on the spot, fear overtaking the young race, known then as Anthony, he ran as fast as he could to his house. When he got there, he didn't even have time to take in what he was seeing before the firemen had grabbed him around the waist and pulled him away. He remembered bits and pieces of it as time went on, but could never be completely sure what things were true and what were only imagined. He remembered screaming for his parents, his little sister Claire. He wasn't even aware he'd tried to get into the house until he looked in the mirror later and saw the streaks of soot and ash that marked his face and clothing. He hadn't even felt the heat.

After that the law decided Race belonged in a boy's home. Jail, was more like it. The Refuge, they called it. That place was horrifying, kids coming in with bruises, said to have been caused by the guy who owned the place; the food was barely edible, at least what little they were given, and most of them had nightmares, screams so haunting, no one got much sleep as it was. he didn't have a cent to his name and his family was dead and Race was 7 years old. He didn't live tough, didn't think tough, but after a month in that place, his mind changed. He became aware of the rules of survival. And one of the only ways to do that was to escape. Surely, he wouldn't be missed; he was quiet, small for his age, unnoticeable. And he was right. He managed to get away from The Refuge, the prison he'd swore never to return to, and ran as far away as his legs could carry him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, those legs carried him right into Spot Conlon's territory. And for some reason, Spot took pity on him; maybe because Spot wasn't the biggest of the kids either, maybe it was something else. But from that moment on, the two were nearly inseparable. Race had nightmares for quite a while, of the fire, The Refuge. And for some reason spot never laughed or made him feel bad. And race felt at home. That is, until he began to miss Manhattan, the place he known his entire life. Spot wasn't possessive, not a Race, and he'd let him go. But Spot always managed to help Race when he needed it and vice versa. While no one from The Refuge had ever come lookimg for him, probably never even realized he'd been there, Race formed a bond with Jack Kelly, Manhattans own boss. And when he was there long enough, he wasn't as afraid anymore, and going out on his own wasn't such a big deal. After all, Racetrack Higgins, in his own right, one of the toughest Newsies of New York. Until yesterday.

Sighing and rubbing a hand across his face, Race walked to the bathroom with a set of dry clothes, and set to work washing the morning's events off his body. He was exhausted. After dressing, he trudged back to his bunk and nearly fell into it. Even through all the noise , Race lay down, tucked his arms behind his head and fell into a fitful sleep, having the first nightmare he'd had since he was 9 years old. 

*****

Light flickered at the corners of vision, blinding him as he lifted his head off the floor. Somehow he had fallen out of bed, dragging the thin, worn blanket with him. He shook his head to clear it and looked around the lodging house. There was no one there. Thinking tgey must have gone back out to sell, he wondered what time it was and how long he'd been asleep. Racetrack sat up, taking a deep breath and untangled himself from the blanket. He still felt on the edge of the nightmare, his mind reeling with everything that had been going through his head. It was bright in the room and Race figured the rain must have completely passed. Still, as he pulled himself to his feet, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead, he couldn't bring himself to go back outside; he'd eat whatever he had left if he had to, not even wanting to pay a visit to Weasel. Race rubbed the back of his neck and sat down on his bed. "That was a pretty brutal dream you had." Race started at the sound of the voice in the room, when only a moment ago it was empty. It took him a moment to get his breathing under control. 

" How'd-- how'd you get in here?" He breathed. Race was typically a pretty tough guy, never backing down in a fight, sticking up for his friends, walking around the streets of New York at night, alone, without any trouble. Until this guy showed up. Race could feel his face getting hot, his skin buzzing.

"It's not as if it's locked. " The man pointed out, nodding to the door. " I'm actually surprised I hadn't thought of this before, coming here. "

"How long have you been following me?" Race's emotions are all over the place. " why haven't you said anything until now?"

The man turned his head to the right, as if he heard something. Race watched him carefully. " I'll see you later, race." And with that he walked out the door without another word, leaving Racetrack gaping after him.

*****

Race wasn't sure how long he sat there, it could have been minutes or hours, when he heard Jack walk back through the door. "Hey, Race." Jack's voice was bright and cheerful in the Silence of the room. Race felt himself turn in Jack's direction, his head beginning to throb with all the things trying to get out of it. Jack seemed to notice and rushed to his side. He knelt down in front of race, who was still Seated on the bottom bunk, the same one he'd had for years, so that the two of them were face-to-face. Jack put a hand on Races knee, worry etched on his face. " Hey, are you alright?"

Race let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He could feel himself getting nervous, but he had to tell Jack what was going on. It had been barely 24 hours and the man was attaching himself to racetrack like a leech. And he had no idea how long this has been going on; was it months? Years? He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to decide how much to say, if it would make him sound crazy or weak; this was Jack Kelly after all. When he opened his eyes again he found Jack searching his own, genuine concern within them. "Yeah," he said eventually, his voice quieter than normal. "Just a headache."

You sure?" Jack asked, raising his eyebrows.

" yeah, probably this crazy weather." He offered Jack his best smile.

Jack nodded and smiled back, padding races knee. " well, the gang is all at jacobi's if you want to join us." When Race shook his head, Jack's stood to go. When he got to the door, he hesitated. "Are you sure you're okay, Race?" Jack looked after his boys, always made sure everyone else was taken care of before himself.

"Sure." Race told Jack, brushing a hand through his hair and closing his eyes once more. "I'll catch you later Jack. "

Jack nodded once more before readjusting his hat on his head and heading out the door. Once he went, Race put his head in his hands and tried to get rid of his pounding headache. He should have told Jack, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to tell anyone, at least not yet. Sure, the guy had come into the lodging-house, but he hadn't exactly harmed or threatened him; if he said anything he'd sound whiny and Race wasn't okay with that. He'd wait it out for now, as hard as it was to to keep the anxious thoughts from swirling around in his head. This man was really messing with him and he couldn't figure out for the life of him why, but he felt like he was going out of his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading and as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Sorry for any typos or errors, I literally had to type it all in

At some point Racetrack had fallen asleep and the next time he awoke, it was dark in the lodge. Everyone was asleep, and though Race had no idea what time it was, he guessed it was the middle of the night. His headache finally gone, he carefully threw his legs over the side of his bed and stood up. It felt good to stretch his legs. His hair was sticking up in multiple directions and, despite it being either really late, or really early, Race pulled his comb out of his back pocket and slicked it back into place. As quietly as he could, Race opened the door to the lodging house and stepped out onto the street. He needed some air and maybe a walk to settle his still -racing mind. He headed down the street, enjoying the slight breeze on his face. It being night, the heat had died down from the rain, the stars were out, and Race felt himself beginning to relax. He took a few breaths of the night air and felt some of the tension release from his shoulders; Race was very much a night owl and allowed his feet to lead him towards Brooklyn without even realizing it. 

He didn't give much thought to his surroundings, having been this way too many times to count, and enjoyed the relative quiet of the night. It was a different lifestyle after dark, the only sounds a few drinks in the buzz of the street lights to keep him company. So he barely noticed when someone stepped out of the shadows and murmured his name, a sickly smile on his lips. He shook it off, not wanting his head to be filled with the eerie feeling that I've been stuck to him for the past couple of days. But he couldn't ignore it when it happened the second time, and a third, slowly and compass in his brain, until he felt his chest heaving and his feet moving more quickly below him, pounding the pavement, trying to outrun his fear. Eventually his fear overcame him and he found himself staring at directly in the face. "Can't outrun me, Racetrack. " The man's grin was even more menacing in the dark and Racetrack found himself skidding to a halt so he didn't plow into him. He was breathing hard, after all, he didn't get called Racetrack for his speed, and bent at his waist to catch his breath. He tried to call himself, and glanced around him and hopes that someone would come to his aid. But it was late in the streets are empty, every other person in New York inside where they should be, where Race should be. "Aint no one here but you and me. " The man spoke as if reading Race's mind. Race stood back up and looked at the man, his instinct to fight. He put his fists up in a boxing stance, ready to defend himself if necessary, but hoped it wasn't. But the man only chuckled. "I'm not gonna hit you." But Racetrack kept his position, unsure what to believe. He felt his face growing hot, the sweat from his run and the fear tat kept deepening inside him trying to find a way out. He took the man in again, his long hair hanging in limp tendrils around his face, contradicting his smart dress, now without the jacket, which seemed unusual to Race considering it had only gotten cooler. He wasn't dirty so to speak, just slightly unkempt, his demeanor making him more so. But what struck Racetrack the most was that he didn't wear anything different from the otter handful of times Racetrack had seen him; even most of the Newsies had a few changes of clothing. But none of that was relavent, and it didn't matter if the man wore nothing but underwear and a pair of shoes or a three piece suit, Race was still scared to death of him. 

"Look, please just leave me alone. I can't --" He felt himself slipping, his jaw clenching in his effort not to completely lose it. "Here." He said finally, taking the money from his sick and throwing it at the man's feet. "It's yours. Just please, leave me alone. " And he ran, the echoes of the man's laughter following him as he went. 

Race didn't stop until he reached Brooklyn and the dock where he spent so many hours with Spot talking about everything and nothing. The place he knew he could find the one thing that would help him get through this: Spot Conlon. And as he slowed down, his heart's running in his chest, he saw Spot, sitting and leaning against one of the posts, his left leg dangling off of one of the sides, swinging back and forth absentmindedly. Race hadn't looked behind him since he took off from where he left the man standing in a pile of money and as he came to a stop, he took the opportunity to glance around, seeing nothing but the dim lighting from the few streetlamps that surrounded the dock, and the inky blackness beyond. 

Spot stood from where he was perched, having heard the footsteps from behind. He smiled at Racetrack, jogging over to where he stood beneath a flickering streetlamp. "Hey, Race, what are you doing over --" His smile faded as he noticed the look on Race's face. Spot took in Race's appearance, his eyes coming to a stop when they met Race's, concern edging it's way in. "Race, what is it?" That was all it took; Race felt his go slack, his bottom lip began to tremble, and he laced his hands behind his head, turning away from Spot, as if trying to force all the emotions back inside himself. "Hey. " Spot stepped forward and reached a have up to pull one of Races arms from behind his head, which didn't take much effort; Race simply didn't have any fight left in him. Race was written down to the bone, and all but collapsed into Spots arms, tears escaping his eyes, unbidden, and buried his face in Spot' s shoulder. Spot felt his arms slowly encircle Racetrack, a look of shock and worry on his face, as he felt Race's tears turn to sobs. "It's okay, Race." He held his friend tighter, rubbing slow circles on his back, trying to calm the frantic despair seeping from Racetrack. "It's okay, Race, whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. " Spot promised, turning his face so that it was nearly pressed to Race's ear, and reaching a hand to tangle in Race's hair. Spot closed his eyes and spoke quietly to Race. "It's okay, Race, it's okay. It's alright." Over and over again, Spot repeated those words until he felt the tension ease in Race's body, and the younger boy loosen his grip on Spots shirt. Eventually, Race pulled away from Spot and wiped an arm across his eyes. He let out a choked laugh, though nothing was remotely funny. 

"Spot, I--" Race couldn't seem to get the words out; it was like they were caught in his throat, too big to expel.

Spot waited patiently for Race to speak, though he wanted to shake him, make him say whatever it was he was dealing with. Something had his best friend spooked. He'd seen Racetrack scared over the years, but nothing like this. Spot remembered hearing Race crying at night, or scream out in his sleep, but as he got older it didn't happen quite as often, and seem to fade all together in the past few years. Now, Spot thought, Race was as tough as anyone. He didn't like the sinking feeling he got in his gut, telling him that something bad had happened. Fear that someone was dead or close to it, that Race had done something horrible or had something horrible done to him. It took a lot to scare Racetrack Higgins. "Take your time, Race. "

Race nodded and sniffed back at the rest of his tears. He took a deep breath and finally let out what had been eating away at him. "Someone is following me. I think I'm in trouble."

"How long?" Was all Spot needed to ask. Hed do anything for Race, no questions asked. 

"Couple days. " Race told him. He hated how weak he sounded. It had barely been 48 hours and hee felt like a black hole had sucked the life out of him. The man had him bawling his eyes out in front of the most celebrated Newsie in New York.

"A couple days?" Spot nearly shouted. "You kept this to yourself for a couple of days?" Spot wasn't mad at Race, not by a long shot, just found it strange that Race hadn't even bothered to contact him, let him know what was going on. "Race that's crazy. You should have said something. "

"Like a fucking child?" Race spat. He hated bothering Spot with this even now, even after all the confrontations, because nothing had happened. "Nothing even happened. "

Spot looked at Race sideways. "What do you mean nothing happened? You're being followed. Shit, Race, this guy has you crawling out of your skin. I can feel it. "

"But he hasn't exactly done anything. Not really. Just shown up whenever there is no one else around. I don't even know what he wants. He just finds me somehow. Always knows where I am. That is the maddening part. It's like he just wants to mess with my head."

" have you done anything? Anything that would make someone follow you?"

Racetrack shook his head. " I mean, I want a decent pay out at the truck the other day. That was the first time I saw him. He must have been at the track and seen me there Then followed me back to the lodging-house. I can't figure him out." He paused, then resumed speaking, his voice quiet. " I actually saw him on the way over here." Spot opened his mouth to speak then closed it again and race took the opportunity to tell him the rest of the story. How he thought the man wanted to fight and he just laughed at him, how he ended up throwing his winnings on the street at the guys feet and then run off, like a coward.

" Race, I know you won't have anymore without a reason." Spot wanted to give race back some of his dignity. " maybe he just wanted the money. Wanted to scare you into giving it to him and now I'll leave you alone." Racetrack nodded, clearly not buying it. " why don't you stay here tonight anyway. It's late." He knew Race would never ask, but he could say I'm shuffling his feet, getting antsy.

"Yeah." Racetrack agreed, rubbing his hands across his eyes, tiredness taking over.

"Let's go. " spot slung an arm around braces shoulders and the two of them walked back to the Brooklyn lodging house, knowing either one of them was going to get any sleep for the rest of the night. Spot didn't sleep right most nights anyway, keeping an eye and an ear out for any trouble that might occur in the dead of night. Being the king of Brooklyn had its perks, but it also has its drawbacks.

***

Spot walked to his usual place, the first Punk that could be seen when entering the lodging-house, and padded race's arm. "Try and get some sleep tonight. " He told him, knowing it would be impossible. He pulled himself up too the top bunk, usually left open, and gave Race the bottom, Spot's usual choice. Spot settled himself on the top bunk and took off his hat, placing it on the metal bar to his right that held the two beds together, before running a hand through his blond hair. It was going to be a long night, he thought, as he heard Racetrack carefully sit down on the bottom bunk.

On the bed pillow Spot, Racetrack let out a loaded sigh, and placed his head in his hands. He hoped that Spot was right, that the guy would finally leave him alone. He sat for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before lying down on Spot's bed. He felt a little better having Spot right above him, knowing that he had shared everything with him at all so lesson to the fear and at some point he was relaxed enough to fall asleep.

***

When Race woke up the next morning, the lodging house was empty and it took him a moment to remember where he was. For a minute, he panicked, looking around for Spot. He sat up quickly, relief flooding through him when he saw Spot emerge from the bathroom. Spot noticed the panicked look on Race's face and rushed over to him, sitting down next to him on his bed. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. " Rave offered. "You didn't have to stay. "

" I didn't have anywhere to go." Spot insisted, brushing a lock of hair back from Race's face. 

" I feel so stupid." Rave admitted. He said, pulling the comb out of his back pocket and trying to tame the strands that refused to stay in place. He needed more hair oil. He found himself pacing, getting agitated. " I let myself get into this mess. Why didn't I just throw punch?"

Because it's not you." Spot said calmly. " besides, who's to say the guy wouldn't come back and cause more problems?"

Racetrack only nodded, knowing Spot was right. He just had to hope there was nothing more to fear. After a while, he grabbed his hat, having shoved it in his back pocket when he left the Manhattan lodging house the previous night, and placed it on his head. " I should get back. Jack already thinks something is up."

"What do you mean?" Spot asked, reaching for his own hat and positioning it on his head. " I thought you hadn't told anyone."

" I guess I was shaking up yesterday when the storm hit. I saw the guy right before that and then again while I was at the lodging-house, before Jack came back from selling. I didn't go back out because I was so exhausted from the night before." Race explained. " I just told Jack I had a headache."

"Shit, Race. You should have said something. Jack wouldn't have laughed at you or nothing." Spot insisted, placing a hand on Races arm. Race didn't say anything more and Spot didn't push it. " want me to walk back with you?"

"Nah." Race's Mouse twist in a sort of smile. " I'll be okay. It's nice and sunny. If he shows up, it won't be now. Too many people around."

"Okay" Spot told him, rubbing Race's arm, trying to reassure Race of his own thoughts. "I'll come by later, see how you're doing. "

"Spot, you don't have to---" Race started, but Spot cut him ofc, albeit sarcastically. "I'm coming to the beautiful streets of Manhattan to see how you are doing."

The two of them shared a laugh before heading out the door, Spot to check on his burro and Race back to Manhattan to try and sleep off his waking nightmare.

***

When Race got back to the lodging house in Manhattan, the skies were bright blue, white clouds floating up above, the perfect day. It was one of those days he loved being out in, even selling. He'd run into a bunch of the Newsies on his way back, passing several selling spots. Jack was nowhere to be seen and Race worried Jack would spend his time looking for him, but hoping he'd think Race had just gotten an early start. Either way, he asked several of the boys to pass the news on to Jack that he couldn't sleep and went for a walk before selling, which was mostly the truth.

He walked into the empty lodging house, his mind and body completely drained, despite the few naps he'd gotten throughout the past couple of days. He really should be out selling, considering he dumped his money on the man following him around, but he knew Jack would spot him the few nights he need to cover in the lodging house. With that in mind, Race removed his shoes and his hat and lowered himself to his bed. He eased his body down onto the mattress and blew out of breath of air. He was starting to hate being alone. If he were completely honest, he wished Jack or spot where there with him, to keep him company, maybe just until he fell asleep. Instead, Race lay there, exhaustion getting the better of him, until he finally fell into another fitful sleep.

***

Racetrack opened his eyes slowly, the bright sunlight blaring through the windows, making him squint. He sat up, readjusting himself so he was leaning against the rail that ran across the backs of the beds( they were mostly end-to-end). He closed his eyes for just a moment before reopening them, hoping to adjust better and when he did, the figure before him startled him out of bed. Race scrambled to his feet, his eyes full of fear and panic. He didn't have time to think, as the man took a few steps in his direction. "Don't look so surprised to see me, Racetrack. After all, we're both in this now. "


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter!! I was in the mood to get this up.

"Look, if it's money you're after, I don't have any. Honest. " Race felt his back hit the wall before he realized he had backed away from the man. He was starting to sweat despite the chill in the air. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that was forming there.

The man smiled then. "It's not money I want from you, Race. Surely you've figured that out by now. " his voice was deep, throaty, with an edge of authority. It reminded Racetrack of smoke, the kind that came with fire, gritty, thick, and threatening to choke you with your next breath.

Race looked around the lodging-house, searching for a possible escape point, but there is nothing, the man would get to him first, he was sure of it. Race was out of options. He felt sweat trickle between his shoulder blades, his breathing sped up, and his heart was pounding so hard he swore the man could hear it. Race took a shuddering breath, his throat thick with the tears fighting their way to the surface. It was like the man could sense his fear, like a dog hunting an animal. Race heard him chuckle, the same grinding laugh that had given him pause not so long ago, the man's dark hair falling into his eyes, the deep brown of his eyes, reflecting Race's own, though only one set held fear.

The man lunged then, thundering across the room, and racetrack felt himself falling onto one of the beds, his heart hammering in his chest, scrambling for purchase on something and finding nothing. Fear became all he could see, blurring his vision, and it was all he could do not to call out. "Don't worry. " the man smirked. "This won't take long. "

"Please. " Race found himself begging, tears mixing with the sweat that now dripped into his eyes. "Please, don't. I'll do whatever you want, just please, let me go. " Racetrack threw his arms up to block what he knew was coming. "Please. " He found himself fighting with a strong pair of hands. 

"Race!" He heard his name as if from a great distance, a hollow sound that only made him fight harder. "Race! Racetrack!" Suddenly he was snapped to attention, the set of hands tightening, not loosening their grip. Racetrack!"

He struggled a moment more, then realizing who the hands belongs to, stopped, all the fight having gone out of him. He was still panicky, his heart pounding so hard, he was sure the others could hear it. His body was shaking with fear or adrenaline, he couldn't tell which. Nervously, he glanced around the room. "Where did he go?"

Spot kept his hands on Race, but loosened his grip and sank down beside the younger boy, his eyebrows pulled together. "Who?"

"That man!" Race nearly shouted. "The one in here threatening me!"

Spot stared at Race, a look of confusion on his face. "Race is this the guy you said has been following you for the past few days?"

Race nodded, his heart rate beginning to slow, and looked at the rest of the Newsies, some looking on with concern, others looking away, pretending the scene before then wasn't happening. "He must've --"

"Race --"

"I mean --"

"Oh, Race. " Spot looked into his friend's eyes, wishing he could see what was in front of him. His heart hurt, and it pained him to say what he was going to say next. "There was nobody there. "

Racetrack shook his head, let out a laugh that wasn't quite a laugh. "Not funny, Conlon."

Spot bit his lip, looked at the other boys and back at his friend. "Race, I promise you, there was no one there. "

"You know what?" Race scoffed, sliding off the bed, backing away from Spot, towards the door to the lodging house, the Newsboys moving out of the way, all seemingly holding their collective breath. Race glanced around the room, his eyes settling on Spot. "Fuck you." And he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments comments comments!!! I need to know what you make of this 


	6. Chapter 6

No one had followed him out, he knew they wouldn't. Angry tears burned his eyes and fell unobstructed down his cheeks. He didn't bother to brush them away. He stormed down the street, not caring who saw. He didn't even know where to go. He couldn't go back to the lodging house and Brooklyn would do him no good; Spot was in the Manhattan Lodging House, calling him a liar, making him look like a fool in front of all the other guys. But that wasn't Spot, he wasn't mean, not to Race. What the hell was happening? Race felt himself running again, his feet taking him where his mind could not. His lungs burned with the effort, but he pushed through it. He ran until he couldn't stand it anymore and he leaned over in three street and threw up. He threw up nothing but bile and water, not really having eaten since the morning after the man first showed up in his life, but his stomach clenched over and over again, trying to rid his body of everything horrible. He squatted down where he was, on the side of the street, and spit into the small puddle of vomit. He was disgusted with himself, in more ways than one. He rested his forehead on his arms and felt the tears getting the better of him once again. He took a few deep breaths and stood up. The dock stood to his right, the afternoon sun glancing off the water. He wasn't surprised where he'd ended up, just that he'd made it that far without even noticing. He walked to the end of the dock, his legs on autopilot, his eyes heavy with the burden of everything, and stopped. He stared out into the vast amount of water and screamed. He screamed with everything he had left, the sound tearing from his throat, ripping him apart. He screamed until he was hoarse, and fell to his knees, tears streaking down his face and running into his mouth, until all he could taste was the hopelessness that was inside him. He knew what he looked like, like a kid from The Refuge, that should be taken there and locked up, a burden kept away from everyone else. But he couldn't help it. 

He wondered what his life would be like if he hadn't lost his family in the fire, if he were there with them, if he could have saved them. His mom, his dad, his sweet little sister, Clara. She was only four. She would have been scared. Clara had this doll their mother had made for her when she was two or so. It had dark hair and green eyes, just like Clara. She carried that doll everywhere. She even insisted on it taking a bath with her, well sat next to the bath so it wouldn't get ruined. But she wouldn't let that thing out of her sight. Race hoped she had it with her in her last moments. 

Race's mom, Anna, was the most wonderful woman he'd ever seen. Everyone always used to say he looked like her, though being a boy, he'd always wanted to look like his dad. Even though they didn't have a lot of money, his mother always made him feel special, especially on his birthday, when she'd make him a homemade cake. It was always something he looked forward to in the weeks before his birthday. 

His dad, Anthony Sr, was a hard worker, never complaining even when he had to get up before the sun to walk the long route to his job at the factory. He was helping build cars. Race wasn't quite sure what his father did, but he sure loved listening to stories he told Race before bedtime, something he always did with his kids.

If only Racetrack could have prevented all of that from happening. He had tried though, hadn't he ? He had run to the door, tried to pry it open, tried to get too his family. It was that fireman, the one who had grabbed him around the middle, forcing him away from the fire...

But none of tat was true. He hadn't even made it halfway across the yard. The screaming was only in his head, so terrified he couldn't even speak, not even when the firemen and police officers asked him his name. And the marks on his clothing came from the gear the firemen were wearing when they held him back.

Race had imagined it all the way he had wanted to, the way it should have been. But he had never even tried. Race have gotten to his house and come to a standstill in the middle of his yard, staring up at the house blazing before him. He hadn't made a sound, hadn't moved and now here he was, with the same thing happening all over again, his mind playing tricks on him. He wasn't Brave and tough, he wasn't even half that, only just pretending. The real Racetrack would come out eventually.

Racetrack felt himself stand and turn around, only to fall to his knees once again. He looked up, hoping against hope that someone would help him, but all he saw was the face of the man, the one who would set all this in motion. "Who are you? What do you want?" Race's voice was raw, nothing but a whisper. The man stood before him, dressed in his finest, his jacket buttoned, his hair now tied back, or at least slicked back. Racetrack found himself cowering, sobbing, in front of this man, and he didn't care anymore. He just wanted it to be over. The man knelt in front of him. "Oh, Anthony. " when Race didn't speak, it confused, frightened look on his face, the man continued. "I'm everything you fear your life will become, everything you want and everything you don't. I don't exist anywhere but your mind, I'm only a reflection."

And with that, the man vanished. "No!" Race gasped. He struggled to his feet. "No!" But with all the circles he turned, there was nothing. It all made sense now: why the man only came around when Race was alone, how he always knew where to find him, how he always knew what Race was thinking; the man had never actually touched Racetrack, never knew anything Race himself didn't already know or think. Race struggled to breathe, his world spinning, colors blending together in a sickening pallet "No." He whimpered, his last thought was 'Spot was right. ' before everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this story so far!! I may be on a bit of a hiatus..... moving houses. I would love to hear what you think so far . It will help me get my writer's fingers back after taking a break!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its been awhile, but I hope you enjoy this next chapter!! Let me know what you think!!

Feet pounded the pavement, voices echoed off of buildings as dozens of bodies swarmed the dock, surrounding Racetrack. "Get out of my way!" Shadowed One Voice Above the rest, power entwined with anger. The Newsies backed off, each one falling silent and making a wide circle around Racetrack, Spot falling to his knees beside of fragile boy. Spot gently brushed the hair out of Race's face, his fingers tracing the smaller boy's jawline before landing on his neck, checkimg for a pulse. Spot closed his eyes for a moment, letting relief wash over him, a breath of air releasing from his chest, before snapping back into action. He swiftly , but carefully lifted Racetrack off the cold wood of the dock and sped back down the planks towards the Brooklyn Lodging House. The rest of the Newsies followed, concern in every one of their eyes. They stayed close as if to guard Spot and Race, but fell back once they reached the Lodging House, allowing Spot to make his way into the Lodging House alone, the limp body of Racetrack Higgins in his arms.

As soon as the door opened to the lodging house, the air felt like it went out of the room, a buzzing sound filled Spot's ears as he laid Racetrack down on his own bunk. The rest of the Newsies smartly thought to leave them alone, though Spot knew they were as worried as he was. Spot knelt next to the bed, a lump forming in his throat. He knew something was wrong, even though Race was alive, he knew something wasn't right. He took Race's hand in his own, feeling the cold flesh there. His heart broke for Racetrack. He reached up again with his free hand to brush the hair out of the younger boy's eyes, knowing Race was particular about how his hair looked. Stupid kid with his stupid hair, and his damn mouth running all the time. Spot felt his eyes fill with tears. What he would give to hear Race's smart mouth again. He gripped his hand. "God, Race, what the hell is going on with you? You ain't eating, barely sleeping, seeing people who aren't there--" He took a ragged breath. "You take off and I find you passed out on the damn ground. What if you had fallen in the water, huh? What if you went and got your damn self killed? What then?" Spot felt himself falling apart. He dragged an arm across his eyes, not daring to let go of Race. "Where would I be then?"

Spot felt his body giving into his emotions, both thankful and yet not caring that the rest of the gang was outside. He leaned forward into the mattress, burying his face into the dirty sheet, his body heaving with pain. He was supposed to be tough, supposed to be the King of New York, as it were, and here he was kneeling next to a broken boy, as he himself became even more broken. As he allowed himself to cry, something he didn't do often, he suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat, jolting his head from the mattress where Race lay. "Racetrack." He breathed.

Race groaned, flinching as he brought a hand up to his head. Pain radiated behind his eyes and even the smallest movement made his breath catch in his throat. He turned his head slightly, Spot coming into view, and closed them again to the image. He didn't want to face Spot at the moment, and if he were honest, he didn't know where he was or how he got there. He just knew that he wanted to be alone.

He forced his eyes open again and Spot was still there, the blonde's eyes staring back at his own, and even in his current state, Race could see the worry there. He swallowed thickly, his stomach threatening, and he took a deep breath in through his nose. "Spot." His voice was raspy, raw from screaming, sick with emotion.

Spot side and a smile played at his lips. "What happened to you, Race?"

Racetrack shook his head and went when it's tearing pain ripped through his body. "It's okay, Race. You don't have to say anything yet. I'll get you some water." Spot took his hand from Race's and went to get a cup of water for him. Race said nothing and closeed eyes again, wanting sleep to overtake him, to rid him of the reality of what was happening. When Spot returned, Race didn't make any move to open his eyes again. Spot sat the cup on the bed frame and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand up to cup Race's cheek. " you know you can talk to me. You are my best friend, Race. I hate that whatever this is is starting to destroy you." Racetrack opened his burning eyes, now beginning to fill with tears that slowly sit over his nose and dripped into his dry, cracked lips. "I'm sorry. " He croaked.

"No, don't be sorry. Just talk to me. Tell me what's been going on with you."

Racetrack sniffed, a light check a living his lips. "You'll never understand. " Spot reached for the cup of water and helped Race to sit up, bringing it to his lips for him to sip.

"I want to. " Spot told him. When Race shook his head, Spot took his hand once again. " at least let me look at your head. You can hardly sit up on your own so I'm guessing you hit it pretty hard. Maybe after that you'll tell me what's going on inside of it."

Race allowed Spot to examine his head, didn't say a word as Spot stared into his eyes, checking his pupils, or when he felt around for any serious bumps or bruises, any sign of blood. He didn't speak when Spot slowly lifted his shirt to check his torso and arms, carefully unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt, and finally his undershirt, pulling it over his head. Spot's eyes darkened as he took in the slim frame that was now races body. It hadn't taken long for him to lose a few pounds and on Race those few pounds made a huge difference. His eyes were dark and sunken from so little sleep, his skin dry from not drinking much water. Spot's eyes echoed the pain in Race's and Spot gently pulled Race to him, arms and enveloping the younger boy, and Race felt himself giving into something he needed: comfort. Race laid his head in the crook of spot's neck, while Spot's hand came up to tangle in his dark locks. "When you're ready I'm here i I'm ready to listen. I didn't mean to scare you before. It hurt me to think you were--"

Race pulled away. "Hallucinating?"

Spot nodded, not looking at Race. Race took the cup of water from the bed frame were spot had set it so he could examine his head and go put the rest of it. After that, he realized just how empty he was, he wanted more, and not just water. "There is something I haven't told you. "

Spot didn't say anything, didn't want to interrupt, so he just kept his hand on Races knee. "My life before being here was a lot different than you might think. I had a family. They died in a fire. And right before I blacked out I remembered something about that fire. I remembered the pain of them being gone. But then I remembered something else, the reason i thin n all of this is happening." Race took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. "There was a reason I didn't help them, Spot. I started the fire."


End file.
